


Get the Picture

by Mystic_Whim



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:04:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystic_Whim/pseuds/Mystic_Whim
Summary: The precinct participates in a fundraising event by publishing a calendar featuring photos of the Bay City Police Department.





	Get the Picture

 

 

Starsky was fiddling with the snack machine when Hutch came up and smacked him on the butt with the back of his hand with a sharp _thwap!_

"Ow!" he complained, rubbing his backside.

"Your presence is requested in the conference room.  Pronto."  Hutch yawned to demonstrate his lack of enthusiasm.  "Dobey's calling everyone in."

"Big case?" Starsky asked, the fanny smack already forgotten.

Hutch shrugged.  "Haven't heard anything."

The two men filed into the conference room with the rest of their co-workers.  They took seats in the back, Starsky leaning his chair back to perch precariously against the wall in a reclining position.  Once he was comfortable and reasonably wedged against the wall, Hutch brought his foot down against the upraised chair leg, jiggling the chair into a potential slide out from under his partner.  Starsky quickly righted the chair, avoiding the catastrophe, and glared at the smug look on Hutch's face.

"Careful.  You could fall," Hutch taunted.

"Nah, that only happens when some asshole kicks the chair out from under you," Starsky chafed.

Captain Dobey walked in, accompanied by a very attractive woman.  She had long straight hair pulled back into a ponytail, and eyeglasses with dark frames perched on her nose.  She wore a business-like skirt and blouse that appeared far sexier than intended, due to her ample curves in all the desirable places.  Starsky righted his chair and sat at attention, as did most of the men in the room.

"I called you all in here," Dobey began, "at the request of the Commissioner's Office.   The Commissioner's agreed to participate in another fundraising event for Big Brothers and Big Sisters of Bay City.  This year they are putting out a calendar, featuring the BCPD.  This is Madeline Newson.   Most of you have probably heard of her.  She's famous for photographing celebrities, and now she's a celebrity in her own right.  She's volunteered to assist in the fundraiser by taking the pictures for the calendar.  The Commissioner has given her free reign to observe the officers of the BCPD, and to take photos of anyone she wants.  If you have any problems with being photographed, you'll need to contact the Commissioner's office.  We've assured Miss Newson of our full cooperation, so I expect all of you to work with her, and do whatever she asks of you.  Are there any questions?"  A young officer in the front row raised his hand.  "Yes, Gilmore?"

"When you say It's a calendar featuring the BCPD, are you talking about one of those beefcake calendars?  Like male pin-ups?" he questioned suspiciously.

Dobey looked to Madeline Newson for help.  She stood and stepped up next to Captain Dobey.  "Yes, you could say that.  This calendar is supposed to raise money for Big Brothers.  We've seen in the past that calendars featuring police officers and firemen are quite popular, and can be extremely successful."  There were displeased mumbles throughout the room.  She smiled and raised a hand to quiet the group.  "I assure you the photos will be tasteful, and artistic.  It is not our intention to embarrass or humiliate anyone.  Those of you who are unfamiliar with my work are welcome to inspect my portfolios.  They are on the tables along the south wall.  I've yet to receive a complaint about the photos I've chosen for projects like this.  We are hoping those chosen will be flattered.  The men chosen for this calendar will look _very_ good, very sexy, and I believe it is something you will be proud to be associated with.  We want you to have fun with this.  And we want you to feel good about being in the calendar.  This is, after all, raising money for a good cause."

Dobey raised up a handful of calendars.  "Here are some examples of the calendars put out in the past few years."  He dropped them onto Gilmore's desk.

Another officer raised his hand.  "Are we expected to _volunteer_ for this?"

Dobey smiled.  "You've **_all_** volunteered for this project.  Miss Newson has the employee photos of all of you, and she is welcome to meet with any of you as she makes her choices on which twelve she wants to photograph."

A voice from the back joked, "Don't worry Kelso, you're safe - she only wants the _good looking_ men!"

"That'll be enough of that," Dobey chided.  "I've promised our full cooperation, and I expect you all to be the professionals you are.  Don't make Miss Newson's job any more difficult than it is, and don't make people feel awkward about being chosen.  If I hear anyone giving Miss Newson or her subjects a hard time, they'll find themselves handling Sunday church traffic duty for the next three months!"

Dobey answered a few more questions before he dismissed the room.  Starsky and Hutch wandered over and picked up one of the calendars.   "I'm familiar with her work," Starsky commented as he flipped through one of her portfolios.  "She's the best celebrity photographer around.  She's done work for all the major rags, and she's got more awards than you could count."

Hutch was looking through one of the other portfolios.  "These pictures are stunning."

Starsky found a familiar face in one of the sample calendars that Dobey had left out.  "Hey, isn't that Gomez from the academy?"

Taking the calendar, Hutch examined the subject.  "Yeah, it sure is.  Wow, he looks like a model, doesn't he?  Like he was born to do this."

Starsky looked at the picture again over Hutch's shoulder.  "Can't wait to see what she does with you," he baited him.  "I heard the Cap giving Newson your name."

A horrified look flashed across Hutch's eyes for a moment, then he slapped the calendar into Starsky's face.  "Save your breath, Starsk.  You'll need it to blow up your date."

 

~*~

 

Starsky slipped on his leather jacket and grabbed his car keys.  "I'll see you tomorrow.  I've got to get to the bank before it closes.  You want me to pick you up in the morning?"

Hutch sat down at his desk looking distracted.  "Hm?"

Starsky paused and walked up to him.  "What's up?  You look like somebody just kicked your dog."

"Madeline Newson met with me a little while ago," Hutch divulged.  "She, um, wants me to be in that calendar."  His voice got quieter as he went along.

Starsky smiled, noting that Hutch didn't look pleased about this at all.  "Way to go, Hutch!  This'll be great.  We need a new target for the dart board.  The picture of Dobey is falling apart."

Hutch looked up at him with a helpless expression.  "You want to take my place?"

"No way," Starsky laughed.  "I belong on the other side of the camera."  He cocked his head.  "You aren't really worried about this, are you?  You'll be great!"  Hutch didn't look at him.  Starsky knew he was miserable, and took pity on him.  He sat down next to him.  "You've posed for me for pictures, lots of times.  This is no different."  He nudged into him.

"Your pictures weren't being sold to the public," Hutch pointed out.

"It's for a good cause.  Heck, it's for _your_ cause.  You're a Big Brother.  Just think about all the kids you'll be helping, just by having a few pictures snapped."  Hutch didn't look any happier.  "You want me to come with you?"

Hutch brightened.  A little.  "Would you?  I'm kind of nervous about this whole thing," he confessed.  "She said I could bring someone.  I think she meant a girlfriend, but I don't think she'd mind if I brought a friend instead."

Starsky slapped his hand down on the thigh, squeezing affectionately.  "I'll be there.  You tell me where and when."  He stood up.  "But I've gotta go, if I want to be able to afford gas in my car tomorrow."

"Thanks, Starsk."

"No problem.  I would have done the same thing for someone I liked."

 

~*~

 

Madeline Newson was setting out her equipment when the two men entered.  She looked up and smiled at them.  "You're early!  Be with you in a second, guys.  I'm still setting out my cameras.  Go ahead and grab some coffee."

She watched them interact, and felt her heart sink.  The blond was gorgeous, and should capture well on film, but he looked nervous enough to lose his lunch.  Not the kind of expression she was going for.  She wondered how much work this would be, to get him to open up to the camera.  "Thanks for coming, Ken," she called to him.  "Who's your friend?"

"This is my partner, Dave Starsky," Hutch answered.  "Is it okay if he's here?  I brought him for, um, moral support.  I'm kinda nervous."

"That's fine," she assured him.  "Why don't you look through my portfolios?  It might give you some ideas on what I'm looking for.  And if there's anything you like or want to do in your pictures, just let me know."  She hoped the photos would ease his mind a little, to see that they weren't like the cheesy crap they've seen before.  And nothing you'd be embarrassed to have your mom see. 

Starsky approached her tables.  "Mind if I take a look?" He asked.

Madeline smiled at him.  "Are you interested in photography?"

"Yeah," he smiled back.  "It's a hobby of mine.  But I don't have anything of this caliber," he gestured to her impressive collection of cameras.

"What do you use?"  She was intrigued with his crooked smile.

"I have a Nikon," Starsky told her.

An idea occurred to her.  "Do you ever take pictures of Ken?"

"Sure, all the time."  He leaned conspiratorially close.  "But this is the first time I've seen him get so nervous.  I think you've got him running scared."

"Maybe you could help me with something."  Madeline opened one of the trunks behind her.  She looked at a camera, put it back, then grabbed another.  Satisfied with this choice, she handed the camera to Starsky.  "How about you start taking some pictures of Ken.  Loosen him up a bit.  Maybe he'll be more comfortable with you.  Then, when he's more relaxed, I'll take over.  Sound okay to you?  I'll let you keep the roll."

Starsky eyed the camera with something akin to lust in his eyes.  "I'd love to," He smiled.  "You sure about this?"

"Absolutely.  I'll just finish up here, then I'll wander over.  It'll give him a chance to relax, and I'll see if I can learn something from how you work with him."   She gave him some pointers on the use of the camera.  "Think you've got it?"

"Got it," Starsky grinned.

"Now remember, I'm going for sexy, confident, hungry, bad.  I want women to look at his picture and see sparks.  If you have any ideas on how to reach that wild side, by all means feel free."  She looked critically at Hutch.  "How do I take him from Opie Taylor to James Dean?"  She shook her head.  "To be honest, I was a little disappointed he didn't bring his girlfriend along.  I was hoping for some intimate insights."

Starsky laughed a sort of cocky laugh.  "Lady, I know that guy better than anyone.  You want hungry?  I'll get you hungry.  You just get those cameras warmed up."  He winked at her, then turned to walk away.

She smiled at him.  Perhaps this would work out after all.  Starsky walked over to Hutch, professional camera in hand.  Madeline raised an eyebrow watching him walk back.  That man had a tantalizing backside, and a strut in his walk that grabbed her attention.  And she could do wonders with that crooked smile and those blue eyes.  He hadn't been on her original short list for models, but that might have to be amended.  The man certainly oozed sex appeal.  And if he was true to his word regarding his blond friend, this could work out well.

Suddenly her day was looking up.

 

~*~

 

Hutch looked at the camera in Starsky's hands.  "What's this?"

"Madeline's still setting up.  She said I could play with this until she was ready for the shoot.  You mind if I snap a few of you?  I wanna see what this baby's got."

Hutch shrugged.  "Sure.  Why not.  Everybody wants to take my picture today."  He sounded bummed out again.

"Why does this bother you so much?" Starsky asked, fiddling with the settings on the camera.

"I'm not cut out for this.  I don't belong here," Hutch complained.

Starsky laid a hand on his arm.  "Nobody in this precinct belongs here more than you do."  The disbelieving look on Hutch's face surprised Starsky.  He squeezed his arm firmly.  "Hutch, she's not a photographer, she's an _artist_.  She knows beauty when she sees it."

"Don't give me that," Hutch shook his head.  His voice sounded snide.  "I don't need one of your pep talks."

Hutch's words stung.  "That what you think?" Starsky demanded, yanking Hutch's arm toward him.  His voice forbidding, he asserted, "I'm telling you the God's honest truth.  _You belong here_.  You belong in that calendar.  And not just because of your pretty face.  Lots of people have pretty faces.  You've got something rare.  You have a beauty that's got strength and depth.  You belong in an artist's portrait.  On a painter's easel.   In a sculptor's marble.  In the right artist's hands, you'll be breathtaking."

He released Hutch's arm as the man stared at him.   He softened his voice.  "Why do you think I take so many pictures of you?"  When Hutch didn't answer, and continued to stare at him, he answered, "Because I want to be able to capture that.  I want other people to see what I see.  I wish I had the skill to bring it out of you, to capture it in film.  I don't have the skill of someone like her.  Maybe she can do what I can't.  I wish you'd give her the chance."

Hutch was silent.  Starsky noted a pink flush in his cheeks, but wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or horrified.  Hutch looked away, then finally looked back at him and said in a slow voice, "Wow.  For a minute there...you almost sounded like you meant that."

Starsky couldn't help the grin at first, but he forced it from his expression.  "Yeah?  Did you like that?"

Hutch cleared his throat.  "I'd applaud, but I don't want to give you any encouragement."

"Not bad, off the cuff."

"I'll give you that."  Then Hutch looked at him shyly.  "You going to use that thing?  Or you just going to carry it around all day?"

Starsky gestured to the desk.  "Go sit on the edge of the desk.  Yeah, like that."  He walked up to him and gave him the once over.  "Hm.  Too posed. "  He slid his fingers into Hutch's hair, then stopped.  "This okay?"

"Knock yourself out."

Starsky continued with his finger combing, then started unbuttoning the first few buttons of Hutch's shirt.  He stood back and snapped a couple shots, then gave him another once over." You look too stiff.  Here, sit back a bit.  Don't smile."  Hutch obeyed, and Starsky pulled out the bottom drawer of the desk.  "Gimme a leg up," he instructed.  Hutch put his foot on the drawer, and leaned onto his raised knee.  "Better.  Pull out your shirt.  Yeah.  Unbutton it the rest of the way."  He walked back to him and flipped his long hair back over his shoulder and tugged the collar out a bit, brushed the shirt back and more open.  "Much better.  You look more like you, now."

Hutch gave a little snort.  "And I didn't look like me a minute ago?"

"Nope."  He snapped a few more pictures.  "You still look a little tense.  You know what you need?"

"A normal partner, that doesn't undress me and mess up my hair like I'm some kind of freaky doll?"

Starsky laughed.  "I didn't undress you.  I just told you to unbutton your shirt."

"So what do I need?"

"Need?"

"You said, ‘'You know what you need?'"

"Chin up.  Not that far.  Perfect."  He snapped another picture.  "Put your hands further back.  Yeah.  Ooh, good!  Just like that."  Another snap.  "You need sex."

Hutch laughed, his eyes twinkling.  "That may be the case.  But what does that have to do with you taking my picture?"

"You're too uptight.  You need sex on the brain."

"Is that what I need?"  Hutch was amused now.  "And how will that help?"

"You know the people that answer telephones for a living?  Telemarketers?"

"What about them?"

"They're told to smile when they answer the phone.  You know why?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

Starsky snapped another picture.  "Because you can hear it in their voice.  The smile affects the way they speak."

"And why is this important?"

"You're kinda like that."

Hutch sounded a little irritated.  "I thought you told me not to smile."

Starsky smiled knowingly.  "Not the smile.  If you have _sex_ on the brain, it shows in your eyes.  Like their smile is in their voice."

"How do you figure?"

"Your eyes get bluer.  And you get this certain look.  It looks sexy on you."

"You pay way too much attention to me," Hutch criticized.

"You want me to prove it?" Starsky challenged.

"I'm game," Hutch eyed him.  "What do you suggest?"

Starsky lowered the camera and thought for a moment.   "I want you to think about the best sex you ever had."

Hutch exhaled deeply, lost in thought.  A slight smile turned up the corners of his lips.

"No," Starsky grinned.  "Not the romantic shit.  Dig deeper.  I want you to think about the best _sex_.  The kind of sex that comes to mind when you're really horny.  Satisfying sex.  Hot sex.  Dirty sex."   Starsky knew the minute Hutch hit on the right memory.  His eyes shot Starsky a look, and they were deep deep blue.  There was a glint in his eyes, and this time his smile looked cocky, confident, hungry.   "Now we're talkin'!"  The camera started snapping shot after shot.  "Who you thinking about?"

Hutch smiled devilishly.  "A certain stewardess."

"Tell me," Starsky coaxed.

"Why?  Will you see it in my expression?" he mocked.

"No, I just like to hear about sex," Starsky chuckled.

Hutch laughed and scooted further back on the desk.  He was pretty much sprawled across its surface, lounging lazily now.  "You remember her.  Roxanne?"

"Is that the blonde one with the big..." he glance in Madeline's direction,"...eyes?"

Hutch shook his head, his hair falling back, his shirt splayed open.  "No, that was Candy.  I'm talking Roxie, the United stewardess - the one with the legs up to her neck and the heart shaped ass."

"Ah!  Yeah, I remember her.  She was with ‘ _the friendly skies_.'" Starsky wiggled his eyebrows.  He snapped another picture.  "That girl had quite the appetite."  Another snap.

"Yeah, that's her.  Remember when she suggested the..." he looked over to Madeline.  Satisfied she was not listening, he continued, "the threesomes?"

"How could I forget?"  Starsky chuckled.  Snap  "That was a wild weekend."  Snap.  "All those weekends."

Hutch looked up at him, his eyes blazing blue.  "That was the best."  His voiced quieted.  "That's what I keep wanting to go back to.  That's what I have to have again."

Starsky lowered the camera and looked at Hutch.  He was completely at ease now, sexually aroused, and his eyes were intense.  He moved close into Hutch to capture a close up of his face.  "Why her?" He asked, raising the camera to his eye and snapping in earnest now.

Hutch didn't answer right away.  "It wasn't her," he said slowly.  "It was the ...situation."

Starsky was curious.  He hadn't thought Roxanne was that big a deal to Hutch.  Just a good time.  Apparently, a _really_ good time.  Hutch was watching him intently now, and he could sense there was more behind the words.  Snap.  "You like the numbers?" he tested.  Snap.  Hutch shook his head, still watching his every move.  Snap.  He lowered his voice.  "You liked me watching you?"  No answer.  Snap.  Starsky grinned.  "You liked watching me?"  Snap.  There was a mischievous look in Hutch's eyes now.  Snap.  Snap.  Snap.

"Not exactly."

Starsky lowered the camera.  "Don't keep me guessing.  Spill."

Hutch swung his legs back down to the floor and stood up.  He seemed taller, far more confident.  Snap.  "It wasn't the girl.  It was the _view."_  His eyes were piercing.  "It was the eye-level, eye to eye... _view_."

Starsky lowered the camera and looked at Hutch, cocking his head slightly.  He raised an eyebrow questioningly.  Hutch smiled.  "The view when we were all..?"  Hutch's smile grew a little stronger.  "So you liked watching me bang her?"  He had been behind her, when she was on her hands and knees, giving Hutch head.  The only person Hutch had been eye to eye with had been Starsky.

"No.  I liked looking at you, and imagining that it was _you_ doing that, making me feel like that."

Starsky's eyebrows both raised on that statement.  "Can't say I expected that answer," Starsky laughed.  "Why didn't you say something?"

"Turn off?" Hutch asked, his eyes had a daring look in them now.

He considered the question seriously.  "No," he answered honestly.   A noise caught his attention as Madeline shut one of her equipment trunks and started to come over to them.  He nodded to Hutch to indicate her approach.  "We'll talk later," he assured him.

Madeline walked up behind Hutch, paper coffee cup in hand.  Hutch turned around to face her, chest and abs bared, eyes piercing blue, now eager to get on with the shoot.  She took one look at him and dropped her coffee cup.  It splattered scalding hot coffee across her feet and legs.   _"Shit!"_

Hutch rushed up to her and knelt at her feet, toweling the hot coffee away with napkins from the coffee station.  "Are you all right?" he asked, looking up at her with concern.

"I'm fine," she blustered.  She grabbed Starsky's arm and demanded, "What did you do to him?"

Hutch rose to his feet, tossing the soggy napkins in the wastebasket.  "Something wrong?"

"Wrong?  Heavens no."  She squeezed Starsky's arm gratefully.  "You're a magician."

Starsky smiled, handing her back the camera.  "Is that the look you were going for?" he asked knowingly.

Her eyes sparkled with delight.  "Honey, that's far more than I hoped for.  You just made my job very easy."

"What's that all about?" Hutch asked Starsky.

"She likes your new look," Starsky replied.

Hutch raised an eyebrow.  "Messy hair and a slobby shirt?"

Shaking his head, Starsky countered, "lots of skin and horny eyes."

"Bullshit," Madeline exclaimed.  "The man is breathtaking.  I'm dying to get him on film."

Hutch slowly spun on his heel to do an about-face and look wide-eyed at Starsky.  Starsky gave him his best gloating smile.  "And you didn't believe me," he snorted indignantly.

"Why would I believe you?   You have a .22 caliber intellect in a .357 Magnum world."

"Come on guys," Madeline breezed past them.   "Let's get to work, Ken.  And Dave?  You're next."

"Me?" Starsky protested. "Whoa, I can't do this.  I _take_ pictures; I'm not in ‘em.  I'm not ready..."

Madeline walked up to him and peered over the top of her glasses.  She raked him up and down with her eyes.  "Sweetheart, you're more than ready.  Whatever you did to him...you did to you, too."

He looked helplessly to Hutch, who was now thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.  "You were right, you know," Hutch laughed.  "When you said you could see it in the eyes?  You were so right."

"You know, you'd make an excellent illustration in a proctology textbook."

Hutch threw an arm around him.  "Come on, Starsk.  You belong here.  She knows beauty when she sees it."

"Hutch, it's perfectly all right to have an unexpressed thought. In your case I even recommend it."

 

~*~

 

Madeline snapped off a few more shots.   Hutch had certainly relaxed.  He'd turned out to be an outstanding subject.  Once Starsky had gotten him past the stage fright, he'd changed dramatically.  He resisted nothing, and appeared completely at ease with anything she asked of him.  The shyness, the modesty and the disconnects were gone.   It was as if Starsky turned a key and unlocked the barricades, freeing Hutch to be incredibly open and honest.  As they worked, she constantly asked questions of him, personal questions, on any subject she could think of.  It kept him a bit off guard, never knowing what she would ask, or why she was asking it.  And each answer revealed more and more of the man.   She loved to work this way.  The better she knew her subject, the finer the photograph.

"Tell me who you are closest to," she encouraged.  Without a moment's hesitation, he pointed a casual finger in Starsky's direction.  His eyes were warm as he looked at him, and she caught a glimpse of the depth of that friendship.  Snap.  "Give me one word that describes Dave."

Hutch thought for a moment.  Then he looked her in the eye and said, "Faith."

Madeline snapped the picture then lowered her camera.  "Wow.  Now I'm curious," she admitted.  "That's a word with many meanings.  Why did you choose that one?" She raised the camera to be ready for his answer.

Hutch gave her a satisfied smile, which she captured on film.  "That's why I chose it.  It encompasses so much.  Trust, his faith in me, my faith in him, fidelity, loyalty, faithfully putting my life in his hands, faith in humanity..."  

"His or yours?"

"His." Snap

"What was the finest moment of your life?"

"I haven't had it yet," he replied with a cocky tone.  Snap.

"And the worst moment?"

Suddenly Hutch shut down.  She glimpsed a sharp pain in his eyes, before he looked away.  His posture tensed, his jaw clenched.  Snap, snap, snap.  "Ken?"  She feared she'd destroyed the openness he'd allowed.

He looked up at her with sadness that made her own heart ache.  "Ask me something else," he suggested quietly.  Snap.

"Okay.  Your worst class in school."  She nearly sagged in relief that he'd stuck with her.

"Wood shop."  Snap.

"Your best class?"

"Psychology."  Snap

She laughed.  "Why am I not surprised?"  He looked up at her with laughter in his eyes.  Snap.  He used his shirt sleeve to drag across his forehead.  "You getting hot?  These lights can get pretty warm.  Here, give me your shirt."  Hutch complied.   She glanced around the room.  "Let's take this over against that wall.  Lean against the wall, and I'll get the fan."

She grabbed another camera and went to pull a large oscillating fan over to where she had indicated for Hutch to go.  He was leaned back against the wall, melted into it luxuriously, eyes closed.  She grinned, knowing the wall must feel awfully brisk against his heated skin.  He looked delicious.  She snapped a couple more shots before turning on the fan.  Hutch opened his eyes and soaked in the fan's coolness.  His hair blew back, dancing in the breeze.  "God, that feels good."

The serenity on his face made her want to reach out and touch him.  She used the camera instead, snapping shot after shot.   Suddenly Starsky tossed something to Hutch that he'd found in her prop trunk.  Hutch snagged the item out of mid air with one hand.  Glancing briefly at Starsky, he looked back to the item in his hand.  It was a long, pink, silk and lace negligee.

Madeline snapped the unexpected sight.  Hutch's expression appeared nostalgic, longing.  He lifted the lacey item to his face, and inhaled deeply of its scent.  His eyes immediately caught hers.  Snap.  "This is your perfume," he stated.  Then he inhaled again.  Snap.  "But this isn't your negligee.  You've never worn it."  He wrapped the sexy nightgown around his hand and clutched it to his heart, looking away as if lost in a memory.  Snap, snap, snap.

She lowered the camera.  Geez, he could melt steel with those eyes.  "How did you know that?"  Snap.

He raised it back to his face again and inhaled deeply.  Snap.  "I smell the perfume you wear, but I don't smell you."  Snap, snap.

Madeline gulped.  The intimate observation left her disquieted and off balance.

Hutch turned to her, watching her intently, staring straight into the camera.  Snap.  Snap.  She nearly gasped.  _Damn, that man could make love to a camera!_ There was such openness in his eyes, for a moment she felt like she could see right to his soul.  Snap.  She was so drawn into his eyes, she jumped when he spoke.  "Can I ask _you_ a question?"

"Shoot."  She was glad she was being pulled back into her work.

"You've been asking me non-stop questions since we started.  But just now, you got very quiet.  Why?'

She lowered the camera and smiled.  "You were still talking to me.  You just weren't using words."  He had an inquisitive look in his eyes.  She approached him and knelt beside him.  "For me, photography is a form of communication.  Your eyes speak to me, your body language, even the way the light hits you, all communicates something to me.  I just use the camera to record it."

He pondered this.  "I think I prefer this non-verbal communication."

Madeline grinned.  "Are you asking me to shut up?"

"I didn't say that," Hutch replied, his eyes smiling.  "But sometimes the questions are distracting."

"No problem.  We'll try it your way."  She stood up and looked at the lights.  "I'm going to change up this lighting a bit.  I want to play a little more with the shadows."

As she was adjusting the lighting, Starsky approached Hutch, gently tapping the soul of his shoe with the toe of his sneaker.  "You should take ‘em off," he suggested.

From a distance, Madeline watched Starsky kneel down and untie Hutch's shoes.  Hutch was watching him work at the laces, his eyes a glowing blue.  When Starsky had finished slipping the shoes from his feet, Hutch rotated his ankles and made himself comfortable.  He pulled up one leg, draping an arm across the knee, the other leg curled under the raised one.   Starsky tossed him a pair of handcuffs, then walked off to the coffee table.  Hutch absently fiddled with the shiny metal, hooking one finger through one cuff, the other finger through the other.  He wasn't watching what he was doing, staring off after his friend, simply toying with the object in his hands.  He looked lost in thought, relaxed and comfortable, and sexy as hell with those intense blue eyes.  Grabbing a different camera, she was snapping pictures from her distant stance, snapping more as she returned to him.  He must have heard the shutter, because he finally turned and faced her directly, once again staring straight into the lens.  His hands stilled and tightened on the cuffs.  His posture changing slightly, he now looked like he was ready to spring at any second, and Madeline's heart skipped a beat.  She could see the predator in him.

She stopped in her tracks, still snapping photos, when Hutch suddenly sprang to his feet, the cuffs dangling from his right hand.  The breeze from the fan caught his hair and blew it into his face, and he shook it back.  He slipped his free hand barely into his front pocket, raised his chin slightly, and looked to Madeline's camera.  The expression on his face was determined and expectant, and she had the nagging feeling she was expected to lay down and let him cuff her to a bed, a not-so-unpleasant thought.  "Jesus, Ken.  If you verbalized what you're thinking right now, I suspect I'd blush."

He grinned, but said nothing.  His eyes seemed to confirm her words, and that grin was so subtle and so suggestive, she continued to move around him, shooting.   She saw Starsky out of her peripheral vision, watching from the sidelines.  Hutch must have noticed him too, because he looked over, and the two men seemed to exchange a little nonverbal communication themselves.  Starsky gave a slight nod toward Madeline's direction, such an insignificant gesture that she nearly missed it.  However, a look of understanding flashed in Hutch's eyes, and he turned again to face Madeline, this time with a piercing stare.  It sent sizzles of fear tingling down her arms and spine.  His expression was fierce, menacing, and frightening.  And _exciting_.

He straightened to his full height and slowly walked toward her.  His steps held power and strength, every muscle of his body seemed to be tensing, and she unwittingly stepped backwards as he approached, never lowering the camera, shooting rapidly now.  He towered over her as he approached, and she backed into a table, falling into a seated position on its surface, never stopping the camera.  Hutch tossed the cuffs onto the table carelessly, and they landed with a loud clank against the metal surface.  She jumped at the sound.  He clutched both her legs at the knees firmly, sliding her backwards until her back gently contacted the wall as a backrest.  He then placed his hands flat on the table on each side of her legs and leaned on his hands, staring threateningly into the camera.  Her mouth dropped open at this display of intimidation, but she couldn't stop photographing this magnificent energy.  _"Jesus!"_ she gasped under her breath.

The intimidating glare instantly fled, and a smile spread across his face.  He backed away, amused.  "I'm sorry.  Did I scare you?"

She finally lowered the camera.  "Where the hell did that come from?" She laughed nervously.  "Damn, that was incredible!"

His expression fell.  "I'm sorry, Madeline."  He touched her left shoulder so tenderly, but her jangled nerves jumped anyway.  "I _did_ scare you."  Without releasing her shoulder, he took her left hand in his free hand, gently holding her hand in a comforting gesture.  "I forget that you don't know me well enough to know I wouldn't hurt you.  I got carried away playing ‘good cop/bad cop.'"

"No, I knew you weren't going to hurt me.  But I was seeing things through the camera, and it's a whole different perspective.  I _wanted_ to capture that intensity, and I knew it wasn't real, but I guess by being open to the images in the viewfinder, I was leaving myself open to feeling it."  She shivered.  "That was fantastic!  I can't wait to see those shots developed."  Hutch still had his hand on her shoulder, her other hand in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.  Starsky came up behind him, and Madeline asked him, "Do you do that good cop/bad cop thing too?" she asked hopefully.

Starsky grinned.  "Not as well as Hutch.  He's really good at it."

She stared at Starsky, noting the darkness of his eyes.  They were such a deep, dark blue, they looked smoldering, and enthralling.  She grabbed her camera, and started shooting him.  "You have an intensity all your own," she mused.

"What do you want to photograph me for?" Starsky complained.  "I don't have that model look."

"I have no intention of creating a Stepford Cop calendar," she explained.  "It's not a certain physical attribute that captures my interest.  It's a sex appeal.  You don't have to look like Paul Newman to be sexy."

Hutch asked, "Are you giving up on me for scaring you off?  Should I take off?"

"Heavens no!" She laughed.  "You're not going anywhere.  The Commissioner gave me free reign to detain you as long as I wish.  Besides, you two play off each other.  Did you think I didn't notice Dave throwing you props, and changing the way you're dressed?  And I'm pretty sure it was his suggestion to play the bad cop.  By the way, thank you, Dave.  I loved that," she directed at Starsky.  Turning back to Hutch she confessed, "I actually had the photo I expect I'll use in the calendar within the first half hour of shooting. You've just been such a fascinating subject, it's hard to tear myself away.  I'd love to get some shots of you two together, too.  The contrasts are compelling!"

Starsky looked at Hutch and said conspiratorially, "Beats busting bad guys."  Hutch smiled.

"Good, that's settled." She tapped the camera and asked, "I don't suppose you'd let me shoot you naked?  Not for the calendar, of course.   We'd keep this separate."

"What, no dinner first?" He joked.  "Do I look that easy?"

Madeline's eyes narrowed, victorious.  "You didn't refuse me."

"I'd be a fool to say no to a beautiful woman who asks me to take my clothes off," he winked.  In a more serious tone, he amended, "Let me warm up to the idea."

"And you, Dave?"

Starsky whirled around, _"Me?_ Hey, I never agreed to any of this. _"_

She was surprised to see his hesitance.  "Yes, you.  Did I misread you?  I didn't think you'd object to this.  You seem so comfortable in your own skin, so self assured.  I rather expected you to jump into this with both feet."

Starsky fell silent and thoughtful.  "I'm no prude," he said quietly.  "But before you ask me, you ought to know that I have scars..."

"Really, Dave?" she challenged.  "Do you really think this would make me _not_ want to shoot you?"

He grinned.  "No."  The smile faded.  "I'm not sure I want them plastered all over your calendar, though, either."

"I tell you what," Madeline said thoughtfully.  "You really helped me out earlier, so I'll return the favor.  I'll make you an offer that I've never offered anyone before.  I'll let you see the photos, and you can help me choose.  If the shot I pick really bothers you, I won't use it."

Starsky looked at Hutch, who raised an eyebrow questioningly.  Starsky looked away, then shook his head.  "No.  If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna do it."  He looked at Madeline, "I'm in...And I trust you.  I don't need to see what you pick.  I'll even do the birthday suit, if you want."

She smiled, delighted.  "Don't worry, Dave.  You won't regret this."

 

~*~

 

They had been shooting for over an hour when Madeline stopped to change the lighting and equipment.  "I want something different here," she murmured.  She looked Starsky over calculatingly, from head to foot.  "I'm thinking black and white.   Or sepia."  Walking behind him, she commented, "I love these jeans.  They are worn almost threadbare at the seat, and the hole at the pocket is perfect.  I ‘m thinking we need a leather jacket..."

"I have one in the car," he offered.

"I have one here, " she replied absently.  "It would be perfect for this.  I'm picturing a bad boy look for you..."  She walked off to a trunk and snapped open the lid.

Hutch approached Starsky, and gesture with his hand to ‘give it to him,' staring at his shirt.  Starsky pulled the tshirt off, and handed it obediently to his friend.  Hutch's expression hardened, Madeline noted, and he laid a hand on Starsky's shoulder.  He didn't speak, but the two men were suddenly engaging in a stare down, Hutch's cold stare boring into Starsky's.  She watched in fascination as Starsky's jaw flexed, and his demeanor changed.  He clutched his hands into fists, inhaling deeply, his muscles tightening.  He looked angry, and as his expression became as hard as his partner's.

A thrill ran up Madeline's spine.  She brought the leather jacket to Starsky, subtly examining his scars as he looked over the black garment.  "I'm rethinking this," she informed him.  "Maybe the way to go would be with leather pants as well.  I think I have black that would fit you."  She walked behind him, gauging his size, and noting his scarred back.  She was shocked at the number of scars, and the violence they illustrated, but enthralled with them as well.  When he moved, the play of light and shadow on his skin was inspiring.

"Yes, leather pants would be better," she concluded.  It was a struggle to hide her thrill and fascination with his appearance.   "Hang on a sec."  Returning to the trunk, she pulled out two pairs of black pants.  "This one is a little smaller.  Try these first.  I want a tight fit."

Without modesty, Starsky stripped and changed into the clothing she provided.  The slacks fit as if they were painted on his skin, emphasizing every muscle and every curve and plane of his body.  "They're good," he declared, reaching for the jacket from Hutch's outstretched hand.

"Don't wear it.  Sling it over your shoulder." Madeline inspected the look again.  The lighting was still too direct.  She dropped the level of one of the lights, and changed the direction of another.  "Turn about a quarter turn away from me, Dave.  Now look back at me over your shoulder.  Yes!  Like that."  Grabbing a camera, she went to work, excited with the images she was recording.  Hutch walked up beside her and watched as she worked.  "Oh my God, this will be amazing!" she murmured to him.  Hutch did not speak, but she could see approval in his eyes.

"Put music on," Hutch suggested.   "Something with a strong beat.  Rock."

"Be my guest," she encouraged without stopping.  She waved off to the corner.  "Whatever you think."

He strolled over to a cassette player in the corner and looked over the selection.  She had a huge variety of music genres, and the tapes were all sorted.  He easily spotted the style he thought would be appropriate.  The sounds of Steppenwolf burst from the speakers.

Madeline grinned.  She loved the choice.  And apparently, so did Starsky.  He instantly loosened up, and his movements became smoother and freer.  Sexier, too.  He seemed to really respond to Hutch's music choice.  By the time _Born to be Wild_ came on, he had a feral glint in his eyes, and a cocky undulation to his moves.  "He's like a panther," she said to Hutch.  Hutch didn't answer.  He was watching his partner very intently.

 

~*~

 

Shaking a charcoal grey blanket over the large mattress, Madeline continued to work at the cloth as she made her way all the way around.  She did not smooth it out, but rather created waves of fabric that moved asymmetrically over the surface.  Hutch watched her, looking very fascinated with her process.

"On you go," she called to him.  He stood up and slipped off the robe she had given him, climbing carefully across the dark gray blanket.  "Don't worry about messing it up.  I just didn't want it to be smooth."

"How do you want me?" Hutch asked.

"Damn, you have long legs," she smiled.  "We've got to emphasize that."  She coaxed him into position, privately admiring the man's form.  She started with him on his side, then had him bring his leg up slightly, turning his lower body away from her, not quite laying on his abdomen.  His arms were splayed away from his body, and he shifted some to get comfortable.  Madeline inhaled sharply.   "Don't move, Ken.  That's exactly what I was going for.  Now close your eyes."  His position looked so natural, and so peaceful.  She grabbed a white satin sheet, and barely draped a corner of it over his torso.   She thrilled at the perfection of it.  In black and white, he would be all smoothness and light against the rough, grey blanket.  The sheet didn't hide him at all, though his position avoided any full frontal nudity in this shot.  It was all legs and hip, and the lovely curve of his backside, and the wonderful serenity on his face.  No warm blooded woman could look at that picture of masculine beauty, and not want to spoon right into the curve of his body.  Leaning over the head of the mattress, she used her fingers to gently comb his hair back, imperfectly, flowing back away from his face.  He sighed blissfully as she did so.

Starsky had taken over the stereo, now that Hutch was back in front of the camera.  The music was very quiet now, an instrumental jazz that mellowed and soothed.  Madeline started to wonder if the music had actually acted as a lullaby for her subject, since he hadn't moved a muscle as she worked, not even when she would stop to change cameras or change up the lights.  After she finished, she paused and turned to Starsky.  "I was going to switch to you next, but I think he's fallen asleep."

"He's not asleep," Starsky informed her.  "I can tell by his breathing."

She looked back at Hutch, and watched the subtle movements of his body.  It was beyond her how he could be sure this wasn't sleep.  "Are you sure?"  By the time the words left her mouth, Hutch was sitting up, pulling the sheet over his lap.

"I wasn't asleep," he stood up, the sheet wrapped around his waist like a bath towel.  "I didn't want to move and ruin a shot."

"Geez, you were still so long!  Aren't you stiff and sore?"

"Actually, I was really comfortable."  Hutch grabbed the forgotten robe and pulled the sheet loose with his other hand.  "Here, take this," he said as he discarded the satin for the robe.

"You want me over there?" Starsky gestured to the bed vacated by Hutch.

"No, I have other plans for you.  Come this way."  Over her shoulder she called, "Don't get dressed just yet, Ken.  I may need you again."  Hutch wrapped himself in the robe again, and grabbed some coffee before following after.

Madeline shut off lights as she moved along.  The room darkened, except for some lights that crisscrossed a pattern across the floor.  "I want you to sit here," she told Starsky.  He took off the robe that he wore and handed it to her.  "Let's work some more with shadows," she mumbled, half to herself.  "But this time, I don't want the wildness.  Just solitude, aloneness."

Starsky took a cue from her words and raised up one knee, hugging into it, his head bowed.  "Oh, yes!" she started shooting as quickly as she could ready the camera.  "Yes, now curl the other leg in tighter.  Perfect.  Look away, down more.  Yes."  She worked enthusiastically, surprised at how he seemed to know exactly what she wanted from him.

At one point, Starsky laid sprawled against the floor, cheek to the tile, he eyes closed.  Madeline saw Hutch wince and he had to look away.  She stepped back to be beside him, changing the roll of film.  "It's like he's reading my mind," she breathed ardently.  "Damn, he looks so...so.."

"Desolate," Hutch replied quietly, his voice sounding tight.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

He looked at her briefly, then turned his eyes back to Starsky.  She saw a pained look in his eyes that was palpable.  "I've seen him badly hurt, and it's like seeing a rerun," Hutch admitted.  "Seeing him that vulnerable...it makes me want to go to him, throw a blanket around him..."  He looked back at her, and he smiled to make light of it, but there was no humor in his smile.  This seemed to really affect him.

Madeline took hold of the front of his robe, gently coaxing it off him.  " _You_ blanket him," she instructed him.

Hutch needed no coaxing.  He tread lightly as he approached, then knelt beside him, encircling his arms around him.  When Hutch laid his cheek upon Starsky's back, his face contained such a genuine caring, that it touched her to witness it.  She moved closer, experiencing the scene before her through the lens of her camera.  Suddenly she saw Starsky's hand clutch at Hutch's arm, tightly, almost desperately, and Hutch's tightening embrace in response.  It was then that she realized why Hutch was so distraught watching his friend.  Starsky truly had been upset.  Hutch had sensed the honesty in his body language, and felt compelled to go and comfort his partner.

She tried to continue shooting, but when she heard Ken's nearly silent whispers, her eyes filled with tears and she couldn't continue.  She didn't have to hear the words to know how private the moment was, and she couldn't go on recording it.  She laid the camera on the floor and quickly exited the room.

 

~*~

 

Hutch found her sitting on the floor in the hallway, her face buried in her arms.  He laid a hand on her shoulder.  "Madeline?"

She looked up at him.  He no longer looked pained like he had earlier.  "Why are you crying?"

"I didn't understand what was happening," she sniffed.  "I didn't realize...Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Hutch assured her.  He turned and sat beside her.  "He wondered why you ran off like that.  He didn't want you to stop the shoot."

"Do you think I'm that cold hearted?" She choked out, tears filling her eyes again.  "I thought it was you that was upset!  I thought you'd feel better if you did something about it.  I didn't know he was upset, too!  I never would have kept shooting if I'd realized what was happening.  You must think I'm such a bitch!"

Hutch chuckled.  "We don't think that," he assured her.  "You couldn't have known."

"What happened in there?  Why did Dave react like that?"

"Honestly, he's fine..."

"Don't give me that, Ken!  I know grief when I see it!  And _you're_ not fine!  Don't tell me he is!  Don't lie to me!"

Hutch put his arm around her.  "I'm not lying to you.  He's alright now.  So am I.  We just got caught up in the past."

She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of his robe.  "What do you mean?"

Hutch was quiet for a moment, unsure of how much to tell her.  "When you asked Starsky to give you solitude and aloneness, he thought about a time when he felt alone and abandoned.  It just got to him."

"Something awful happened to him, didn't it..." she speculated.

Hutch nodded.  "I couldn't get to him.  I couldn't help him."

"That's why you got so upset."

He nodded again.  She clutched her heart.  "Why didn't tell me what was going on?  I feel terrible!"

"Starsky didn't want to stop.  He put himself in that memory deliberately.  And he was handling it alright... until I came up to him."  He looked at her apologetically.  "I'm the one who couldn't handle it.  When Starsky knew that, it was overwhelming for him."

"What happened to him?" Madeline asked.

"It's not my place, to get into that," Hutch answered.

"I was kidnapped, "Starsky answered for him; "taken prisoner by a bunch of crazy cultists."  He tucked his robe around him, and plopped himself down across from them on the hallway floor.  "I was tied up, beaten-"

"Drugged, tortured..." Hutch added with disgust in his tone.

"...And Hutch found me _before_ they did any real damage," he finished assertively.  Staring pointedly at his partner as he emphasized the words.   "I'm a tough cookie.  It'd take a hell of a lot more than that to put a dent in my fender."  To Madeline he added, "Captain America here is still kicking himself for taking so long to find me."  He gave Hutch an affectionate wink.

Madeline seemed to calm, now that she could see for herself that Starsky was suffering no ill effects from the painful recollection.  "I'm sorry, Dave, Ken.  I never meant to hurt either one of you."

"You didn't." Hutch told her firmly.

She reached up and wiped at the tear trail along his nose.  "Uh huh.  I beg to differ."

Hutch grabbed her hand and squeezed it.  "I'm _fine_.  I'm ready to get back to work.  Let's take some pictures."

She looked horrified.  "Oh, I couldn't!  No, no, no.  You guys have done enough.  Besides, that was the last image I wanted to work on, and there's no way in hell I'm going back to that now."  They argued with her further, but she remained adamant that they were done.

Hutch and Starsky changed back into their own clothes and said their goodbyes to Madeline.  She handed them each an envelope, telling them, "And this is for you, for all the hard work you put in today.  Plus you'll get the photo pack for the calendar image."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances, then simultaneously pushed the envelopes back to her.  "We can't accept that," Hutch protested.  "We volunteered for this."

"That was for the calendar," she countered.  "This is for the work you did beyond that.  This is the standard rate I would pay any model who posed for me.  You both earned this."

Starsky stepped away from her.  "I volunteered to do this for charity.  You aren't paying me."

Madeline now appealed to Hutch.  "I'm with him," Hutch shook his head.  "Donate it to Big Brothers, if that would make you feel better."

She tapped the envelopes against her lips, as she gauged her options.  "How about I take you out to dinner?  That won't offend your philanthropic intentions, will it?  A little pizza?  A few beers?  Some kick ass cannoli?"

"You're on," Hutch smiled back.

 

~*~

 

The police radio cackled to life.  "Zebra Three, report to 927 Zephyr Way.  10-61 per Captain Dobey.  See the owner."

Hutch grabbed the mic.  "Ten-four, Minnie.  ETA ten minutes."  He looked at Starsky puzzled.  "Public Service?"

Starsky shrugged.  His head cocked slightly.  "That address rings a bell.  Is that where we covered the robbery a few weeks ago?"

"No, that was southeast of here," Hutch answered.  "But you're right, it does ring a bell."

As the two drove closer to their destination, Hutch asked, "Isn't this where Madeline Newson's studio is?"

Starsky looked at him and raised his eyebrows.  "Sure is."

A few minutes later they were pulling up in front of her studio.  "Wonder what's up?" Starsky said.  "Is this about the photo packs for the calendar?"

"No, she's going to bring those by the station," Hutch replied.

They entered the building and were instantly greeted by a very excited Madeline.  She hugged each of them.  "It's great to see you again!  I have a little surprise for you two.  Come this way!"  She gesture for them to follow, and led them back to a darkened room.  Flipping a switch, a ring of large easels were illuminated, each holding a huge framed portrait.  There must have been a dozen easels.

"What's this?" Hutch asked as he stepped into the large circle of photographs.

"This is your own private viewing of my art show, going up at the Institute next week."

Starsky and Hutch stepped into the center of the circle of easels, and surveyed the photos in awe.  "Oh my God," Starsky gasped.

Hutch swallowed.  "I'm speechless," he stammered.

The photos were all in black and white.  It looked like a photographic essay on contrasts.  Hutch as an example of smooth and fair against Starsky's dark and textured ruggedness.  The pictures were magnificent.  The two men stood in the center of the display, turning around and around, soaking in each of the portraits.

Starsky walked up to the largest of the photos and reached out to touch the glass.  His fingers touched on Hutch's shoulder in the photo.  Hutch walked up to him and placed an arm around his friend.  "It's beautiful," Starsky said breathlessly.  It was the last photo Madeline had taken of them, Starsky curled up on the floor, Hutch's body blanketing him in a protective embrace.

"It's kind of hard to look at," Hutch admitted, smiling emotionally, but he was just as enthralled with the photo as Starsky.  "It really tells a story.   Moving."

"She made my scars really stand out," he noted.  "The shadows make them look darker and deeper.  You can't miss them."

 

"You look incredible," Hutch whispered.  "Absolutely incredible."  He looked at Starsky and asked, "Does it bother you, to have your scars featured so prominently?"

"Hell no," Starsky exclaimed.  "How could this bother me?  I look..."

"Breathtaking," Hutch finished for him.

They walked from photo to photo, admiring the artistic vision in each one.  Starsky stopped in front of a very long rectangular frame, a tight close up of only Hutch's eyes, full of angry passion.  The stark intensity bore right into the viewer.  "Wow," he exclaimed.  "That's awesome.  Powerful."

Hutch looked at the photo, amazed that it was his own eyes looking back at him.  "Do I really look like that?" he laughed, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Yeah," Starsky replied without hesitation.  "Yeah you do."

Hutch hurried to the next photo, one of Starsky naked and alone on the floor, his cheek against the floor.  The shadows were dramatic, seemingly designed to emphasize each and every scar on his exposed back.   Though his eyes were closed, there was striking desolation in his shadowed expression.  He looked like a man who had just been cut down from a whipping post, anguished, yet there was no mistaking the strength and fight still alive within him.  There was no surrender in those muscles, no submission, only a quiet tolerance and endurance.  Hutch crossed his arms, wanting badly to touch the photo, but unwilling to let the grief envelope him again.

"Damn," Starsky whispered.  "No wonder you got upset."  Their eyes met and Hutch grabbed him and pulled him roughly into a hug.  "Easy, big guy!" Starsky protested jokingly.

Hutch chuckled at his protest, and mentally shook off the rising emotions.  "You expect me to look at that and feel nothing?" he challenged.

"Shit, I look at that and I feel bad," Starsky confessed.  "The picture makes me feel worse than I actually felt!  If I'd have known I looked like that, I wouldn't have given you such a hard time."

The next photo seemed to draw Starsky in.  It was the photo of Hutch splayed in his naked beauty across the grey blanket, the satin sheet barely touching him, almost like an ethereal cloth hand reaching out to touch him, as if the sheet couldn't resist.  There was a simple beauty in the image, a serene and romantic mood.  "You look like an angel fell from the sky and fell asleep," Starsky mused.

"Yeah, right," Hutch commented dismissively, but he was privately very proud of how he looked in this image.  He hoped the burning in his cheeks wasn't visible.

"Hutch, I think you missed your calling," Starsky stated, no humor at all in his voice.  "You shoulda been a model."

"You both should," Madeline's voice came from the shadows behind the easels.  She stepped into the lighted ring with them.  "You both ARE models.  I hope after seeing this you'll appreciate just how beautiful you both are."  She had two more frames in her hands, smaller than the ones on the stands, and she rested them on the floor in front of her and leaned them into her body, the backs of the frames facing Starsky and Hutch.

"Madeline, your photos are astonishing," Hutch told her.  "I can't believe that's us in there."

"You like them?" she smiled broadly.  "I was a little nervous how you'd react.  It's disconcerting to see yourself naked in a photo, I know.  And Dave, you were so self conscious about your scars."

"My first reaction was to resist," Starsky confessed.  "You grow up believing scars are damage, and damage is ugly."  He gestured at the photo that accentuated his scarred back.  "But you made them look..."

"Inviting," Hutch finished for him.  Starsky looked surprised at his word choice, and looked back to the photo again.

"I have a couple more here," she said as she turned the portraits around to face them.  "These are the two shots of you that will be in the calendar."

They came forward to inspect the photos that would be featured on the fundraising calendar.  These two were in color.  The photo of Starsky showed him dressed all in leather, the black jacket slung over his shoulder.  He was shot from behind, looking over his shoulder to the camera.  The leather pants flattered the curves of his backside and the long stretch of his legs.  The dark fabric draped along his back seemed to darken his scars, subtly etched across his back like tattooed art.  The muscular arms and chest looked strong and heated.  His eyes were penetratingly blue, reaching out to grab the viewer.

Starsky looked up at her and smiled broadly.  "Mads, this is great.  I love it."  He shook his head. "How did you get my eyes to look like that?  Is that a blue filter?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.  "No, sweetie, that's all you."

He looked up questioningly.  "I didn't think those pictures were for the calendar.  I thought I was going for angry here.  How'd you make me look..." he searched for a word.

"Sexy?" she finished for him.  "Anger and love and hate are all very passionate expressions.  That's why love and hate are so intermingled.  And why a fight can often be a big turn on."  She turned to Hutch.  "Ken?  You're awfully quiet.  Are you disappointed?"

He finally looked up from the photo.  "Disappointed?  Are you serious?  I'm at a loss for words."  He looked at the photo again.  He was sitting on the floor, leaned against the wall, wearing only his jeans.  He held the negligee in his hand, wrapped very tightly around his fist, the rest draping down his hip and leg.  The way the fabric was clutched so tightly, pressed to his heart, spoke of pained heartache.  If the message hadn't been clear enough from his hand, the wistful stare in his eyes screamed it clearly.  His eyes were full of want and need, and especially denial, as he looked openly to the viewer.  It was compelling.  "You have such a gift," he managed to whisper.  "This is beautiful."

Her face glowed.  "I'm so glad.  I really wanted you to be happy with them."  Then she laid a hand on Starsky's shoulder.  "Wait, there's more!  Come with me!"

She led them to a smaller room.  There were about two dozen photos, framed and hanging on one wall.  Against the adjacent wall leaned several stacks of large frames, wrapped in brown paper.   A table in the corner held a couple bags, a leather portfolio and a large rectangular gift box.

Starsky broke from the others and strode up to the framed photos on the wall, studying them intently.  Hutch walked up behind him.  "You have more!" Hutch exclaimed.

"Oh no," Madeline replied.  "These are Dave's, not mine."  She pulled a black leather portfolio from the table.  "Here are the negatives and proofs."  She handed Starsky the portfolio.  "I took the liberty of sending the proofs over to the Institute, where my work is being featured next week.  They were quite impressed with your work.  I suggested a showing of your photos, in conjunction with my showing, and they're thrilled to have the opportunity to show a promising new artist."

"These are mine?" he gasped incredulously.

"All yours," she assured him.  "It's amazing what the right tools can do for the artist, isn't it?"  She smiled knowingly.  "Which reminds me!"  She snapped her fingers and turned on her heel to go to the table in the corner.  She grabbed a bag, and brought it to Starsky.  "These are cameras.  They're for you."  When Starsky opened his mouth to protest, she stopped him.  "They're some of my old cameras, gently used.  I want you to have them."

"I can't accept this," Starsky shook his head.  "I know how much those things cost.  You've got a small fortune in that bag."

"Nonsense," she waved her hand dismissively.  "I get these things for free or at substantial discounts.  It's really nothing.  Take it, Dave.  It means something to me, to be able to help out a fellow artist get his feet on the right path."

He took the bag and hugged her.  "Thank you."

She went over and retrieved another bag from the table.  "This goes with it.  Just some supplies."  As she returned to the table, she announced.  "Now, I couldn't resist this.  You looked so gorgeous in that leather outfit, I want you to have it."  She gave him the box from the table as well.

He laughed.  "Thanks, Mads!"

"Wait, there's more" she replied.  She thrust an envelope in his hand, and stuffed the other in Hutch's hands.

"We told you we aren't taking your money," Hutch objected.

"Oh, these aren't the checks I offered before.  These are the receipts.  I did what you told me, and I donated the money to Big Brothers .  I placed cash donations in your names.   You can use these receipts to claim it on your income taxes.  It was your money, after all."  She then indicated the stacks of frames against the walls.  "And finally, these are copies of your portraits.  Most of them are smaller than the ones in the other room.  Dave, there's a set of your work in here, too.  My work is all numbered and signed, with certificates of authenticity on each one, in case you decide to sell them.  I've made arrangements for them all to be delivered to you, so you don't have to mess with carting them out of here.  You should have them this afternoon, tomorrow at the latest."

Starsky shook his head.  "I can't believe you did all this."

"All I did was send your photos to the Institute.  You did the rest.  You got that showing because of your skill, not because of anything I did.  Trust me, they wouldn't have agreed to it if you didn't have the talent."  She smiled, "And I didn't have to ask twice."

"Madeline, these portraits," Hutch gestured to the wrapped frames against the wall.  "This is so generous..."

"You earned these," she chided gently.  "You volunteered to pose for a fundraising calendar, not the photo shoot I talked you into.  You deserve to be compensated for your efforts.  This is the least I can do."

 

~*~

 

Hutch removed the brown paper wrapping from the very last photo.  He knew which one it was.  It was the largest of the batch, and he had saved the best for last.  It was the photo of the two of them together.  It disturbed him to look at Starsky's expression and posture alone, but when his image was entangled with it, it somehow changed it for him, evoked a different emotion that he hadn't yet discerned.

As the paper pulled away, an envelope fell to the floor.  His name was written across it in Madeline's sharply slanted script.  He propped the portrait against a chair, and stood before it to examine the contents of the envelope.  "If she's sent money..." he growled as he opened the envelope.  But inside was a short note.

 

_Dear Ken,_

_I know you've had a difficult time accepting this image because of the painful memories it evokes.  I'm hoping in time you'll come to look upon it as I do.  When I see this, I don't see the pain so much.  It's there, of course, but it is far out-shadowed by the other elements.   It fills me with a sense of contentment and hope, because it truly is a very touching moment._

_When I look at this image, the only thing I see is the Love._

_God bless you both!_

_Love and peace,_

_Madeline_

 

Hutch looked up at the portrait and inspected it with fresh eyes.  Suddenly that elusive emotion that he couldn't pinpoint earlier rose up and wrapped itself around his heart.  He understood what Madeline meant.

He looked at the image as a whole, and he saw himself embracing his partner.  The nudity left them both exposed and vulnerable, but also raw and honest and genuine.  In his own expression he saw the empathy and the caring, and in Starsky's the desolation.  But he also saw a shining resilience in Starsky, and a strength that his own embrace helped to empower in his partner.  He saw the tenderness in his own touch, a giving of comfort and nurturing.  He could see the love, overshadowing all.  The combination was powerful, and moved him deeply.

"Thank you, Madeline," he whispered.

He heard a quick rap on the door just before it swung open and Starsky walked in.  He strutted in wearing the black leather outfit Madeline had given him, with a black tshirt under the jacket.   He strutted past Hutch and did a humorous catwalk, singing, "if you want my body and you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me know..."

Hutch cleared his throat.  "You finished?" he asked.

Starsky ignored him.  "If you really need me just reach out and touch me..."

"Starsk!"

He looked up, smiling that cocky, crooked smile.  "Huh?"

"You mind?"

Starsky took off the jacket and tossed it over a chair.  He held out his arms, commanding attention to his new outfit.  "Well?  What do you think?"

Hutch gave him the once over.  "Rod Stewart sings it better."

"But he doesn't look as sexy as I do right now."  Starsky wiggled his eyebrows.

Hutch glanced at him again, finding it hard to pull his eyes away.  He had to admit, Starsky did look as tempting as sin in that outfit, but he wasn't about to indulge in that fantasy right now.  "I don't know, Starsk.  He's got thousands of women throwing their panties at him every night.  What've you got?"

"Gimme a chance," he grinned.  "The night is young."

"You have a date?" Hutch asked.

"No.  I thought we could go down and hit that new dance club downtown and trip the light fantastic.  What do you say?"

Hutch shook his head.  "I don't think so.  I want to clean up this mess."

Starsky walked up beside him and looked over the largest portrait.  "You're not getting yourself all bummed out looking at that again, are you?"  His voice was quiet.

"No.  I'm kind of warming up to it," Hutch admitted.  "I'm looking at it from a different perspective."

Starsky smiled.  "Good.  I'm glad you're giving it another chance."  He stepped closer and touched the frame with a light caress.  "I really like this."

Starsky looked around at the photos Hutch had leaned against furniture.  They were mostly photos of Starsky, Hutch suddenly realized, and he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.  Starsky stopped in front of the portrait of him on the floor, with the shadows highlighting his scars.  He seemed deep in thought, staring at it.

"I think that's one of my favorites," Hutch said softly, standing directly behind him.  "I have a hard time looking at it without wanting to reach out and touch it."  He found himself reaching for Starsky, wanting desperately to touch him, but yanked his hand back before the other man noticed.  He mentally kicked himself for letting his desires get the best of him, and crossed his arms tightly across his chest.

"Why'd you pull back?" Starsky asked quietly.

Startled, Hutch could only mutter, "Hm?"

Starsky turned around and faced him.  "Why did you reach for me, then pull back?"

Hutch started to reply, then snapped his mouth shut.

"The room is filled with glass in frames.  I can see the reflection, you know."

"I was going to suggest we go grab a beer," Hutch lied, patting Starsky on the shoulder, as if that's what he meant to do all along.  He started to move toward the kitchen but was stopped by Starsky's firm grip on his forearm.

"You weren't reaching out to pat me on the back," he denied.  "You were reaching out to _touch_ me."

Hutch didn't respond.  He stared at Starsky, unsure of his next move.

Starsky stared back at him, not backing down.  He finally let go of Hutch's arm, but did not release the hold on his eyes.  He reached out to Hutch, much the same way Hutch had just reached for him, and laid his hand on Hutch's heart.  "You were reaching for me like this."  His hand skimmed hotly across Hutch's tshirt, evoking a slight shiver as it slid down and around him.  Starsky never broke eye contact.

"Starsk, don't," Hutch stammered, stepping back from him.  His actions were confusing.  He'd never mentioned Hutch's confessed attractions, and Hutch assumed it was because he was either disinterested or disgusted.  He didn't understand why he'd do this now.

"You know, we never talked about this," Starsky said, following Hutch's backward step.  "The day of the shoot.  We never talked about what you said."

Hutch was not ready to get into that right now.  He'd spent all afternoon staring at sexy and naked pictures of Starsky, and his hormones were screaming for release.  Having him in his face, caressing his chest and waist was not reducing his discomfort at all.  He failed to reply to Starsky's prompting, hoping he'd let the conversation drop.

"I thought you liked the eye to eye view," Starsky challenged.

Hutch's cock jumped in response.  He was backed against the wall now, and Starsky had pinned him with nothing more than his penetrating eyes.  Starsky was close now, close enough to smell the leather and heat and skin.  Starsky braced his hand against the wall and pressed closer.  "Don't," Hutch said again, but there was no conviction in the word.

"You said you had to have it again," Starsky pushed his point.

His body was barely touching Hutch now, a brush of chest here, a brush of fly there.  The contact was so slight it teased.  And the closeness and the heat of his body made Hutch's pulse rise.  "I shouldn't have said anything--"

"How come all the pictures you have out are of me?"  He looked at one of the pictures, then back to Hutch.  "You like looking at me, babe?"  His voice was velvet now, and he leaned in closer, his body fitting into Hutch's, his lips so damn close.  "I like looking at _you_."

Hutch tried to pull back, flattening himself against the wall to no avail.  "What are you doing, Starsk?  Back off."

"I've been thinking about what you said.  You talked about the threesomes with Roxie.  You said it wasn't her that got you all worked up.  Tell me, Blondie... was it me?"

"Back off," Hutch growled.  "Why are you doing this?"

"I was there, too, you know," Starsky reminded.  "I was sinking into her, but I was staring into your eyes.  You think I didn't get off on that?  You think you're the only one?"

Hutch stared at Starsky, really seeing the dark lust in his eyes.  He moved slowly, closing the distance between himself and Starsky.  His lips brushed lightly against Starsky's.  Starsky held his position, neither pushing nor retreating, just waiting as Hutch tested the invitation.  Hutch softly, gently, slid his lips against the silky warmth of his responsive mouth.  He ran the tip of his tongue lightly along his lower lip.  He could feel the man's breath quickening, could sense his pulse rising.  He closed his eyes and slipped his tongue deep into that warm mouth, wrapping his arms around him.

Starsky groaned, grinding into him, burying one hand into Hutch's hair, the other grabbing a handful of his shirt.  Hutch reached down and grabbed Starsky's ass, squeezing indulgently, and felt Starsky laugh into his kiss.  Hutch pulled back questioningly.  "Your hands," Starsky smiled.  "They're huge.  It really feels good when you grab me like that."  Hutch enjoyed the twinkle in Starsky's eyes as he said that.

Hutch nibbled at Starsky's earlobe, exploring his ear with his tongue.  Then he travelled down the man's jaw, kissing and nibbling his way along.  Starsky had pulled the back of Hutch's shirt up, sliding his hands up his back, his hand feeling hot and rough to Hutch.  Hutch pulled back from the kisses, letting his head fall back, enjoying the feel of Starsky's hands on his skin.  Starsky touched his face, trying to coax him back to his kiss, and Hutch took his hand in his, looking at the man's palm and fingers.  "Your hands are rough," he smiled.  "You have calluses."

"Sorry," Starsky started to pull his hand back but Hutch squeezed it.

"I love that," he said firmly.  "I love that your five o'clock shadow scratches my lips, and I love the way it feels when I kiss _with_ your whiskers instead of _against_ them.  I love the feel of your calluses against my back.  And I love how your ass feels in my hands."

"This is kinda weird," Starsky laughed.  "But it feels good.  It feels right."

Hutch smiled and kissed him again.  Starsky tugged at his shirt until he got it up to Hutch's shoulders.  He shrugged out of the fabric, then tugged Starsky's shirt out of his pants.  Starsky finished the task and tossed the shirt aside. When Hutch lightly caressed his hands across his chest, Starsky stilled his hand, covering it with his own.

"I'm a little ticklish," he admitted.

Hutch pulled him into his hips.  He ran his hands over him again, with a firmer touch, whispering, "Let me know if I tickle you again."  This time, Starsky melted into him, his hands running up his back.  "God, you feel good.  This is better than I imagined."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Starsky asked him.  "Did you think you couldn't tell me you wanted me?"

Hutch stopped and withdrew.  He looked away, avoiding his eyes.  "It's more than that," Hutch revealed.  "It isn't just some sexual urge."  He looked up, his eyes sad.  "I love you.  I've loved you for a long time."

"You think I don't know that?"  He stepped back into Hutch's arms.  "Hutch, I don't think I could do this, if I wasn't sure of that.  I know you love me."   He kissed him softly.  "I love you too."

"When I told you," Hutch puzzled, "you never said anything.  You said we'd talk later, but you never mentioned it again."

"I needed some time," Starsky replied.  "I've had the same wants, but I never thought I could go there.  Then you said all that stuff, and all of a sudden it was right there in front of me.  It kinda scared me a little."

"You scared now?"

"Hell yeah.  I'm on unfamiliar turf.  Aren't you?"

Hutch smiled.  "No."  He kissed Starsky again.  Their kisses grew stronger, more heated again.  He gripped his backside once more, crushing him into his body.

Starsky gasped at the move.  "Hutch," he breathed into his mouth.  Hutch reached down and pressed his palm into Starsky's fly.

"I want you," Hutch whispered into his ear.  He grabbed Starsky's hand and drew him over to the bed.  Starsky started to undo his pants when Hutch stopped him with a hand on his.  "Let me do that."  First he removed his own pants, then he kissed Starsky again, running his hands across his backside.

"You like these pants, don't you," Starsky smirked.

"Damn right," Hutch laughed back.  The leather forms to you, makes your ass look...indecent."  He ran his hand over the leather.  "This leather is so soft."  Hutch kissed him again and grabbed his fanny, lifting him right off his feet, turning him in a dip to lay him on the bed, never breaking the kiss.  He unfastened Starsky' pants, pulling them open.

Starsky lifted his backside off the bed.  "You're going to have to peel these things off me," he grinned.  "They're skin tight."

Hutch's eyes glowed.  "I'm looking forward to it.  Like opening a present."  He slid the pants down, stripping the man naked.  He slid up Starsky's body, kissing all the way up, until he captured his lips once again.  Lying along his length, Hutch turned Starsky's body into his, and wrapped his hand around their two shafts.  Hutch gazed into his eyes as he stroked them both together.

"Holy shit," Starsky groaned.  He pushed Hutch back aggressively, turning them both over, until he was on top.  He pulled from Hutch's grip, slipping backwards until his legs straddled Hutch's.  He nuzzled cheek against the head of Hutch's cock.  Hutch watched him intently, his hand caressing Starsky's cheek.  "This what you fantasized about?  Me doing this?"  He ran his tongue along the length.  Starsky circled the head, taking him into his mouth.  Hutch resisted the urge to thrust into that silky mouth.  He groaned as Starsky sucked and ran his tongue deeper along the shaft.  Everything he did felt incredible, knowing just how much pressure, knowing the places that brought him the most pleasure.  Starsky took him deeper down his throat.  Hutch gently slipped his fingers into Starsky's hair, stroking its softness.  He gasped when Starsky moved over him, moving his jaw, and working his shaft in his throat.  "God!" he exclaimed, gripping Starsky's shoulder tightly.

Starsky pulled away, drawing a growl of disproval from Hutch.  He crawled up Hutch's body, straddling his torso.  "I had to stop," he said apologetically.  "You were getting close, and I didn't want to get you off just yet."  He crouched over him, positioning Hutch's cock at his entrance, prepared to impale himself on the shaft.

"Wait," Hutch stopped him. "Lubricant.  Nightstand."  He gestured to the table beside his bed, and Starsky crawled over to it.

"This?"  He asked waggling a tube between his fingers.  He brought it back to Hutch.  "You ever do this before?"

"No," Hutch replied.  "That was Roxie's."

Starsky grinned.  "I'll thank her the next time I see her."  He applied the substance to his fingers and glided them over Hutch's shaft.  He repositioned himself over Hutch, and slid down, taking Hutch's cock inside, moving down little by little until he seated against Hutch's hips.  He leaned into Hutch to kiss him luxuriously.

"I didn't hurt you?" Hutch whispered.

Starsky shook his head.  "A little at first.  Not now."  He stared down at Hutch.  "You really are beautiful.  Those pictures are incredible, but they don't compare to how you look right now."

Hutch slid his hands up Starsky's abdomen to his chest, thumbing at his nipples.   "Tickle?" he asked.

"It only tickles when you touch me really light."  He leaned forward, kissing him again.  He slipped his arms around him, hugging him powerfully, then forcibly rolled them both until Hutch was on top.  Hutch laughed.  "I'm not used to this kind of strength in my bed.  I like it!"  He pulled back, then slid into him again.  He was struggling to hold back, to move carefully, trying to avoid hurting his partner.

"Hutch, it's okay.  You're not gonna break me.  Give me what you've got."

Uncertain, Hutch moved a little faster, loving the quicker pace.  Soon the sensations overpowered him, and the lustful arousal took over.  He thrust in earnest, reaching the pace that made his senses sing, lost in the pleasure.  Starsky was encouraging him, with his hands and his words.   "Come on, babe...don't hold back...God, you feel so good...damn, do that again...!"  Hutch felt Starsky grip him tightly, and his body stiffened, a look of bliss on his face.  Knowing Starsky came took Hutch over the edge, and he felt the slam of pleasure override everything.

When the explosive pleasure receded, his limbs gave way and he sank into the mattress beside his partner.  Starsky curled around him, kissing him sweetly.  "Hey, Blondie.  You with me now?"  He had that crooked grin on his face.

Hutch smiled lazily.  "I'm here," he murmured into those delicious lips.  He wrapped his arms around him, and a leg over him as well.  "Not letting you go."  He heard Starsky sigh peacefully in his arms.  "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head.  "It started out a little uncomfortable," he admitted, "but then it got better.  Way better."  He looked at him with wide eyes.  "It was really good after that.  I didn't expect it to feel like that.  I expected it to be painful, but I didn't think it would be good.  When you were really getting into it, it was incredible.  Like you were stroking me just right."

Hutch tightened his hold on him, telling him, "I love you."

"How about you?" Starsky asked.  "Was it good for you?"

Hutch laughed.  "Do you have to ask?  Of course it was good."  He stroked Starsky's jaw line with his fingertips.  "It was fantastic.  I wish we'd have done this a long time ago."

"You're mine now," Starsky sighed in his arms.

"I'm yours," Hutch affirmed, kissing his curls.

 

~*~

 

Hutch awoke to an empty bed.  Confused by the sleep still fogging his thoughts, he reached out for the body he expected to find, only to have his hand land on a crumple of sheet and blanket.  The idea flickered through his mind that it had all been a dream, until he rolled over into his pillow, and inhaled deeply of Starsky's lingering scent.   He smiled and looked around, seeing the leather pants still on the floor beside the bed, and the leather jacket still dangling from the chair back.  The sound of the shower broke the silence in his apartment.

Hutch got up and entered the bathroom, seeing the shadowed figure behind the shower curtain.  He leaned against the wall beside the shower and crossed his arms, asking, "You mind some company?"

Starsky pulled aside the curtain, grinning.  "Hey, Beautiful.  Come on in."

Hutch stepped into the shower behind Starsky, enfolding his arms around him, and hugging him from behind.  "Good morning, Sexy," he purred into his ear.   He spotted the soapy washcloth in Starsky's hand and held out his hand.  "May I?"

Turning over the cloth, Starsky asked, "You want me to grab another one?"

"No."  He ran the cloth slowly over Starsky's back and neck, taking his time, washing thoroughly.

"You haven't done that in a long time," Starsky commented, sounding a little nostalgic.

Hutch smiled at the memory.  He bathed Starsky before, many times, when he was first released from the hospital.  Starsky had been thrilled when he was finally able to take a bath on his own; another step forward in his recovery.

Leaning back against Hutch's chest, he nuzzled his neck "I loved that, you know."   

"Hm?" Hutch ran the cloth over Starsky's chest and down his abdomen.

"When you'd bathe me.  No matter what, you always made me feel...pampered.  You never let on what a disgusting, crappy job it was."

"It wasn't."  Hutch frowned.

Starsky laughed.  "Yes it was!  Have you got selective memory?  You remember the time they gave me the antibiotic, and it clashed with the other meds...?"

"I remember taking care of you," Hutch said quietly, as he ran the cloth slowly and luxuriously over every inch of Starsky's skin.  He knelt down to continue lower, washing his legs and feet.  "I don't ever remember it being a chore."  Hutch felt Starsky's hand under his chin, coaxing him to look up.  Starsky didn't say anything, but Hutch could see the warmth in his eyes.  Hutch knew he wanted him to stand up.  He continued with his work instead.  "I remember being glad for the opportunity," Hutch admitted.  "I nearly lost you..."

"Hutch."

"Looking back on it now," Hutch continued, "I think that's when I started to realize just how far you'd worked your way into my heart."  Hutch shook his head sharply, flinging the dripping hair out of his eyes.  "Though, I didn't fully understand that until much later."

"Hutch, come ‘ere," Starsky urged.

"No."  He tossed the washcloth over the faucet.  He caught Starsky's eyes.  "I'm right where I want to be."  Hutch wrapped his arms around Starsky's hips, embracing him, kneeling at his feet, as Starsky's hands caressed his shoulders and back lovingly.  

Hutch took Starsky's cock into his mouth.  He felt Starsky's hand touch his face, and realized that he was shielding him from the spray of the water.  The water hadn't bothered him, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

His cock felt like velvet against his tongue as he sucked.  The taste of him was like a drug, making him want more of him in his mouth.  He took in as much as he could, then pushed further, surprised at how easily he slid down his throat.  Starsky moaned, a sound that sent tingles through every nerve in Hutch's body, and melted his body into the wall of the shower.   Hutch savored the power the moans evoked in him.   He knew he could steal his control, overwhelm him with desire and pleasure, and he thrilled at this knowledge.   The way he moved over Starsky's shaft, letting his throat stroke pleasure through his flesh, elicited a primal cry from this man that he'd never heard before.  He learned from each sound, each movement of the man's body, what brought him the richest pleasure, and took full advantage of this new enlightenment.   Starsky's legs trembled from the delicious onslaught, and he grew larger in Hutch's mouth.  Hutch stroked his finger against Starsky's perineum, as the man gasped his name and gripped his shoulder tightly. Hutch enjoyed tonguing the ridges along the hard shaft in his mouth, gliding his throat over him in a rhythm that he felt from Starsky before.  He was lost in the perfection of the moment, knowing he had brought this pleasure to his partner, elated he could share this with him, and touched by the beauty of it all.  Hutch came, as he continued giving head to Starsky.  Starsky's body abruptly stilled, and Hutch felt the force pour through him as Starsky came, and was awed by the taste of the victory in his mouth.

Hutch moved up Starsky's body as the man pulled him into his arms, and kissed him.  "Damn, Hutch," Starsky gasped.  "I gotta take showers with you more often."

Hutch smiled at him.  "I can't get enough of you."

"You came, when you were sucking me off?"

Hutch nodded.  "Yeah."

Starsky grinned arrogantly.  "You've got it bad for me."

"You know, Starsk," Hutch cocked an eyebrow at him.  "With deductive reasoning like that, you could be a detective."

"Careful now, don't let your brains go to your head."

"Are you accusing me of thinking with my dick?" Hutch laughed.

Starsky offered his best Bogart impression.  "Schweetheart, I like the way you think."

 

_The end_

 


End file.
